"I don't mind. I mean, no problem."
"I should be in tomorrow, if this doesn't get worse... so I'll see you then. Maybe we can have coffee. Or rather, I'll have coffee and you can... not have coffee."
"Okay. I'd like that. Not having coffee, I mean. Would you mind... that is, can I check on you later? Call you again?"
"Sure." The phone was safe enough.
"Okay. If you need anything before then..."
"I know how to reach you."
We said our goodbyes and disconnected, and I clambered out of bed to see what mischief Carter had managed this morning. I found the angel sitting on a stool by my kitchen counter, feeding Aubrey sausage with one hand while he held some sort of breakfast sandwich in the other. An enormous McDonald's bag sat on the counter near him.
"I made breakfast," he told me, eyes on Aubrey.
"Don't give her that," I chastised. "It's bad for her."
"Cats don't eat kernels of dry food in the wilderness."
"Aubrey couldn't survive in the wilderness."
I scratched her head, but she was more interested in licking the grease off her chops. Opening the bag, I found a variety of sandwiches and hash brown patties.
"I didn't know what you'd want," Carter explained as I pulled out a Bacon, Egg, & Cheese Biscuit.
I bit into it, melting at that scrumptiousness, grateful weight gain and cholesterol were nonevents for me. "Hey, wait. Did you actually go to McDonald's?"
"Yup."
I swallowed the food. "You just left? Just now?"
"Yup."
"What kind of bodyguard are you? What if the nephilim came back and attacked me?"
He eyed me and shrugged. "You look okay to me."
"You're not very good at this."
"Who was on the phone?"
"Seth."
"The author?"
"Yeah. Wanted to hang out today. I told him I was sick."
"Poor guy. You're breaking his heart."
"Better that than something else." I finished the sandwich and went for a second one. Aubrey watched me hopefully.
"So what are we doing today?"
"Nothing. At least, I'm not going out, if that's what you mean."
"You aren't going to attract nephilim attention that way." He glanced around my apartment and grimaced when I didn't respond. "It's going to be a long day then. I hope you at least have cable."
We spent the rest of the morning more or less staying out of each other's way. I let him use my laptop, and he got caught up in surfing eBay. What he could be looking for, I had no idea. As for me, I stayed in my pajamas after all, tossing a robe over them and deeming that good enough. I attempted to call Roman once, knowing I'd need to face him eventually, but I only managed to leave a voice mail message.
I hung up with a sigh, opting to curl up on the couch with a book Seth had recommended in one of his e-mails.
Just as I was starting to think I'd recovered from the dense breakfast and needed lunch, Carter suddenly peered over the top of the laptop, like a hound sniffing the wind.
"I have to go," he told me abruptly, standing up.
"What? What do you mean?"
" Nephilim signature."
I bolted upright from my lounging position. "What? Where?"
"Not here."
With that, he blinked out of sight.
I sat there, looking around uneasily. Whereas earlier I'd felt stifled by his presence, his sudden disappearance became a gaping hole in my environment. I was exposed. Vulnerable. When he didn't return in a few minutes, I tried unsuccessfully to pay attention to my book, finally giving up after I'd reread the same sentence five times.
Still wanting lunch, I called and ordered a pizza, making sure I included enough for Carter. Doing this wasn't the best of ideas on my part since it meant opening the door eventually. When I did, I expected no less than an army of nephilim outside. Instead, I only found a bored-looking pizza guy, demanding $15.07.
I munched on the pizza and tried to watch television with little luck. Turning to the laptop, I checked my e-mail and found that Seth had sent me a funny letter, much more eloquent than our earlier conversation, per usual. It only provided temporary distraction, and I was on the verge of breaking out the paint-by-number kit when Carter blinked back into my living room.
"What the hell was that? Where have you been?"
The angel regarded me with a calm, wry smile. "Easy there, haven't you ever heard of respecting boundaries in a relationship? It was in that book you were so quick to discard."
"Cut it out. You can't just say ' nephilim signature' and then disappear like that."
"I can actually. I have to." He found the cold pizza on my counter and bit into a piece. Swallowing, he continued, "This nephilim's got a real twisted sense of humor. Every once in a while, it likes to unmask... flash us, so to speak. This time it came from West Seattle."
"You can detect that from this far away?"
"Jerome and I can. We never catch the creep, but we have to check it out anyway. Leads us on a merry chase."
The implications seemed obvious to me. "So you leave me? What if it's a setup? What if it flashes you over there and then zaps back to me while all the attention's away?"
"It can't just 'zap' around. Nephilim don't move like higher immortals do; they're constrained by the same limitations as you, fortunately. This one would have to get in a car and drive back over here, just like everyone else, which would hardly be a speedy process. You're protected by miles of traffic congestion."
"Weird."
"Like we said, they're unpredictable. They like breaking rules, shaking up the status quo just to see what we'll do."
"Weird," I repeated. "Does it even know you're there? That it's making you drop everything and come?"
"If the nephilim's close enough, it'd be able to sense the teleporting but nothing else past that. As long as we're masked, our identities, strength, and whatever stay hidden. So, if it is lurking, it knows two higher immortals came to check it out, but not much more than that."
"And it just watches and waits," I concluded. "Kind of twisted. Lord, these things are a pain in the ass."
"Tell me about it. They 'do not go gently into that good night.' “
I blinked at the poetic reference. "Wait... that's what's going to happen? You're going to kill... er, destroy it or something?"
Carter cocked his head toward me curiously. "What'd you think would happen? Ten years and parole?"
"I... don't know. I just figured... wow. I don't know. Are you into that? The whole smiting thing? I mean, I suppose you guys vanquish evil on a regular basis, huh?"
"We smite, as you so cutely term it, when we have to. Demons tend to be more into it than we are. In fact, Nanette even offered to come up and take care of this nephilim," he recalled, referring to Portland's archdemoness. "But I told Jerome I'd help."
"Wouldn't Jerome want to do it himself?"
"Do you refuse backup when it's offered?" he asked me, answering my question with a question which, really, was no answer at all. Thinking about it, he laughed softly. "Of course, I forget, Georgina rushes in where angels fear to tread."
"Yeah, yeah, I know how that quote really goes." I stood up and stretched. "Well, if the excitement's over, I think I'll take a bath."
"Wow. The harsh lifestyle of a succubus. I wish I had your job."
"Hey, our side's always recruiting. You might need to be a little prettier to be an incubus, though. And a little more charming."
"Untrue. Mortal women go for jerks. I see it all the time."
"Touche."
I left him and took my bath, afterward finally giving up my pajamas for jeans and a T-shirt. I returned to the living room, turned on the television, and found The African-Queen just starting. Carter closed the laptop and watched with me. I'd always liked Katharine Hepburn but couldn't help marvel at what a dull day this was turning out to be. Avoiding going outside wouldn't do me any good in the long term since I'd hav
e to drag Carter around with me tomorrow anyway when I went to work. My self-imposed enclosure today only prolonged the inevitable. In light of this, I considered breaking the cabin fever by seeing if he wanted to go to dinner after the movie. He shot up before I could speak, once more sensing a nephilim signature.
"Twice in one day?"
"It happens."
"Where now?"
"Lynn wood."
"This guy gets around."
But I was speaking to empty air; Carter had disappeared. Sighing, I turned back to the movie, feeling a little more at ease after the angel's last explanation. The nephilim was in Lynnwood, trying to be a nuisance to Jerome and Carter. Commuting time was rapidly approaching, and Lynnwood was no small jump away. No nephilim would beat the angel back. As Carter had pointed out, I was safe for the time being. I had no need to panic.
Yet, I nearly jumped out of my skin anyway when I heard the phone ring a few minutes later. Nervously, I picked up the receiver, imagining a nephilim blasting out of it.
"Hello?"
"Hey. It's me again."
"Seth. Hi."
"Hope I'm not bothering you. I just wanted to see how you are..."
"Better," I told him sincerely. "I liked your e-mail."
"Did you? Cool."
Our normal silence fell. "So... did you get a lot of writing done today?"
"I did actually. About ten pages. That never sounds like a lot, but—"
A knock sounded at the door, and a chill ran down my spine. "Can-can you hang on?"
"Sure."
Hesitantly, I prowled toward the door like a cat burglar, as though slow and drawn-out movements would actually do something against an insanely powerful supernatural being. Reaching the door, I carefully peered out the peephole.
Roman.
Exhaling with relief, I opened the door, resisting the urge to throw my arms around him. "Hi."
"Are you talking to me?" asked Seth through the phone.
"Hi," Roman told me, looking just as uncertain as I felt. "Can... I come in?"
" Er, no I'm not, I mean, yes you can, and yes I am talking to you now." I stepped aside so Roman could enter. "Look Seth, can I, um, call you back? Or maybe... I'll just see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Uh, yeah. I guess. Everything okay?"
"It's fine. Thanks for calling."
We hung up, and I gave Roman my full attention.
"Seth Mortensen, famous author?"
"I've been sick today," I explained, using the same excuse I'd given Seth. "He just wanted to check on me."
"Terribly considerate of him." Roman put his hands in his pockets and paced.
"We're just friends."
"Of course you are. Because you don't date, right?"
"Roman—" I cut off the onslaught that wanted to rush out, switching to safer territory. "Can I get you anything? Soda? Coffee?"
"I can't stay. I was passing through and got your message. I just thought I'd... I don't know what I was thinking. It was stupid."
He turned as if to leave, and I frantically reached out, grabbing his arm. "Wait. Don't. Please."
He turned to face me, looking down from his lofty height, the normally good-humored face grave today. Fighting my natural reaction at such proximity, I felt surprised when his expression softened, and he noted, mildly astonished, "You really aren't feeling well."
"W-what makes you say that?" I had shape-shifted my bruises away as Jerome had suggested and whatever smarting pain I felt was no longer visible.
Gingerly, he reached out and stroked my cheek, fingers becoming bolder. "I don't know... you're just... kind of pale, I guess."
I started to point out I wasn't wearing makeup and then realized I wanted to appear sick. "Probably a cold."
He let his hand drop. "Is there anything I can do for you? I don't like... seeing you like this..."
Lord, how bad did I look? "I'm fine. I just need rest. Look, about the other night—"
"I'm sorry," he interrupted. "I shouldn't have pushed you—"
I stared, amazed. "You didn't do anything. It was me. I was the nutjob. I'm the one who couldn't handle things."
"No, it was my fault. I knew how you felt about getting serious, and I still kissed you."
"I did as much kissing as you. That wasn't the problem. Me freaking out was the problem. I was drunk and stupid. I shouldn't have done that to you."
"It's no problem. Really. I'm just glad you're okay." A faint smile glimmered on his handsome features, and I remembered Seth saying I was easy to forgive. "Look, since we both feel we're at fault, maybe we can make it up to each other. Go out sometime this week and—"
"No." The calm certainty in my voice startled both of us.
"Georgina—"
"No. Roman, we aren't going out anymore... and I don't think we can really pull off friends either." I swallowed. "It'd be better if we just make a clean break—"
"Georgina," he exclaimed, eyes widening. "You can't be serious. You and I—"
"I know. I know. But I can't do this. Not now."
"You're breaking up with me."
"Well, we weren't ever really going out..."
"What happened to you?" he demanded. "What happened to you at some point in your life that made you so terrified of getting close to another person? What makes you run like this? Who hurt you?"
"Look, it's complicated. And it doesn't matter. That past is gone, remember? I just can't do this with you now, okay?"
"Is there someone else? Doug? Or Seth?"
"No! There's no one. I just can't be with you."
We went around and around, rephrasing the same points in different ways, our emotions growing and growing. It felt like forever, but really only a few minutes passed as he pressed and I refused. He never turned angry or pushy, but his dismay was clearly apparent, and I felt certain I'd cry as soon as he left.
Finally, glancing at the time, he ran a hand ruefully through his dark hair, turquoise eyes luminous with regret. "I have to go. I want to talk to you more—"
"No. I don't think we should. It's better. I've really liked being with you..."
He laughed harshly, walking toward the door. "Don't say that. Don't sugar coat things."
"Roman..." I felt horrible. Anger and grief were written all over his face. "Please understand—"
"See you around, Georgina. Or maybe not."
He had barely slammed the door when tears spilled down my cheeks. Going to my bedroom, I lay down on my bed, ready for a good cry that never came. No more tears issued forth, in spite of my mixed feelings of despair and relief. Part of me wanted to call Roman back right now, make him return to me; the other part coolly warned I now had clear reason to cut Seth off as soon as possible before things escalated.
Good Lord, why did it seem I was always hurting people I cared about? What was it about me that made me repeat this cycle over and over? Roman's devastated face still hovered in my mind, but I took comfort in the fact that he hadn't been traumatized as much as Kyriakos. Not nearly as much.
The discovery of my affair with Ariston had led to condemnation from both our families and an impending divorce coupled with the loss of my dowry. I think I might have been able to handle that scorn, even the hateful looks. What I could not handle was the way Kyriakos had been stripped of all life and caring. I almost wished he would turn angry and lash out at me, but there was nothing like that within him. Nothing at all. I had destroyed him.
After several days of separation, I found him sitting on one of the rocky outcroppings overlooking the water. I tried to engage him in conversation a number of times, but he wasn't responding to any of it. He would only stare out at that expanse of blue, face dead and expressionless.
I stood by him, my own emotions writhing inside me. I had reveled in being a forbidden object of desire with Ariston, but I also wanted to be one of love with Kyriakos. I couldn't have it both ways apparently.
I reached out to wipe the tears from his cheeks, and he slapped my hand
away. It was the closest he had ever come to hitting me.
"Don't," he warned, leaping up. "Don't ever touch me again. You sicken me."
I felt my own tears now, even if his anger meant he was still alive. "Please... it was a mistake. I don't know what happened."
He laughed hollowly, a terrible, mirthless sound. "Don't you? You seemed to know perfectly well at the time. So did he."
"It was a mistake."
He turned his back to me and walked over to the edge of the cliff, staring out at the sea. He spread his arms out and tipped his head back, letting the wind blow over him. Gulls cried nearby.
" Wh-what are you doing?"
"I am flying," he told me. "If I keep flying... right over this edge, I will be happy again. Or better yet, I won't feel anything at all. I won't think about you anymore. I won't think about your face or your eyes or the way you smile or the way you smell. I won't love you anymore. I won't hurt anymore."
I approached him, half-afraid my presence would make him go over. "Stop it. You're scaring me. You don't mean any of this."
"Don't I?"
He looked at me, and there was no more anger or cynicism. Only grief. Sorrow. Despair. Depression blacker than a moonless night. It was terrible and frightening. I wanted him to snap at me again, to yell at me. I would have even let him hit me, if only to see some sort of heat in him. There was none of that, though. Only darkness.
He gave me a sad, bleak smile. The smile of one already dead.
"I will never forgive you."
"Please..."
"You were my life, Letha... but no more. No more. I have no life now."
He walked away, and even as my heart broke, I exhaled in relief to see him moving away from the cliff. I wanted to run after him but gave him his space instead. Sitting down in his spot, I drew my knees up and buried my face in them, half wishing I was dead.
"He'll come back here, you know," a voice suddenly said behind me. "The pull is too strong. And next time, he may go over."
I jerked my head up, startled. I hadn't heard anyone approach. I didn't recognize the man who now stood there, odd in a town where everyone knew everyone else. He was slim and well-groomed, dressed in clothes more elegant than I usually saw around here.
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